


the sound of your feet upon the ground

by celeste9



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:03:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Leon felt like he was lost and floundering at sea, with nothing to anchor him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sound of your feet upon the ground

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Trope Bingo, futurefic. Title from Fun.'s Carry On.

Leon walked out of the tavern and continued down the road, feeling the light breeze rustling through his hair. It smelled like there was rain on the horizon and when he glanced up, he could see the dark clouds hovering above Camelot.

“Drinking alone, Sir Leon? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Leon didn’t need to look to know that it was Merlin falling into step beside him. “Seems like you might have had the same idea.”

Merlin shrugged, his mouth curving faintly. “Maybe. Changed my mind though, haven’t I? So. Bad day? You want to talk about it?”

Unable to help from chuckling at Merlin’s faux-concern, Leon said, “I just wanted a minute to, to… Well…” He trailed off, feeling suddenly silly.

But Merlin was nodding, his expression turning serious. “I know.”

“I kept thinking, Gwaine would have been flirting shamelessly with the new barmaid, with Elyan goading him on, and Arthur--” Leon stopped, darting his eyes to Merlin.

“And Arthur would have rolled his eyes at the lot of them, whilst secretly enjoying himself.” Merlin’s words were steady, but his eyes retained that haunted look that seemed to be his constant companion.

“Yes,” Leon agreed, glancing away from Merlin and feeling nearly overwhelmed by a sense of sad fondness. When Arthur had become king, it had essentially put an end to his excursions to the tavern with them, but they had passed many memorable evenings there when Arthur had been no more than the prince.

And even as king, Arthur had not been above sharing the odd bottle of wine (or two, or three…) in someone’s chamber, laughing and joking and telling stories. Leon missed King Arthur desperately, but he missed his friend Arthur more.

Leon still turned the corner sometimes and expected to see Arthur striding down the corridor, his hair catching in the sunlight through the windows. He still imagined he could hear the sound of Gwaine’s laughter or see Gwen bending her head to Elyan’s, sharing smiles and secrets. Though it had been years, and their friendship brief, he even found himself thinking of Lancelot from time to time. The ache dulled with the passing days, but never went away.

The ache of losing both Arthur and Gwaine at once had not yet dulled in the slightest.

Leon felt sometimes that he hadn’t the right to grieve for Arthur, not like Gwen did, not like Merlin did. Gwen had lost her husband and Merlin… well, Merlin had lived for Arthur. What was Leon’s loss, compared to that?

But he remembered the boy Arthur had been, when Leon had first arrived at the castle, young and eager to earn his place. Imperious little Arthur, already giving out orders, already desperate for his father’s approval.He remembered Arthur the teenager, moody and arrogant and filled with potential. Uther had trusted Leon to be Arthur’s traveling and training partner, ahead of many who were older and more experienced than he. It had been a duty Leon took incredibly seriously, but more than that, it had been a privilege. It had been a privilege to watch Arthur grow and to have a hand in it, no matter how slight. It had been a privilege to earn Arthur’s respect, his trust, his loyalty, and his friendship.

Leon had loved Arthur as his prince, as his king, and as a brother. Arthur’s absence hurt him like a physical wound, like a hole in his heart, and perhaps no one had the right to lay claim to grief. They all missed Arthur.

“I think about traveling sometimes,” Merlin said, jarring Leon out of his musings. He had nearly forgotten he wasn’t alone.

“Traveling?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I feel like… It’s stifling here in Camelot. Too many…” Merlin stopped, biting his lip.

Leon thought he knew exactly what Merlin meant. “Why don’t you?”

Merlin shrugged. “For Gwen. I can’t leave her.”

“I think Gwen would understand. She would want you to do what you need to.”

“I suppose.”

“And you would return, surely?” Leon didn’t like to think of a Camelot without Merlin, without his cheerfulness and good humour (even if, at the moment, that side of Merlin seemed mostly absent). He didn’t like to think about losing someone else, even if it was only to distance.

There was something odd in Merlin’s face that Leon couldn’t quite read. “Yes, of course. I could never stray too long.”

“Merlin,” Leon said, stopping in place and touching his fingers to Merlin’s arm. “You have spent your years here thinking of Arthur, thinking of Camelot. Perhaps it’s time you think of yourself.”

Merlin offered a faint quirking of his mouth. “As you do?”

Leon glanced away.

“Anyway, I’m not sure I’d know where to start.” His expression softened, his mouth falling into a bigger smile, if no more genuine. “Maybe with food. I’m starved. See you later?”

“Yes,” Leon said, and watched Merlin hurry away.

Leon walked on by himself, lost in the solemnity of his thoughts. He considered returning to his chamber, but he did not wish to sleep, nor to read. Instead, he found his steps leading him to the throne room. The throne room, where not so long ago they had all sat at the round table. Arthur, and Gwaine, and Elyan. Leon thought of another round table, those years ago, when Arthur had reminded them of what was important and when they had pledged him their loyalty. Leon would have followed Arthur anywhere, as would they all have, and now, without him…

Sometimes Leon felt like he was lost and floundering at sea, with nothing to anchor him.

Leon opened the door and then stilled, for the room was not empty. Gwen stood at the window, staring out into the night, the moonlight illuminating her silhouette and the fall of her dark hair. She startled at the noise, tilting her head to look at Leon.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I didn’t think anyone would be here. I’ll leave you.” Leon made to return the way he’d come.

Gwen immediately moved towards him, the hem of her dress brushing the ground. “No, please, Sir Leon, I was just leaving.”

In spite of her words, Leon remained poised to leave. Gwen’s brown eyes held a depth of quiet sadness and Leon felt that she must have been here for much the same reason that he was. He was sorry for his ill timing. As the queen, Gwen did not have the luxury to grieve on her own time. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t,” Gwen insisted. “I only... I feel close to him here. It’s silly.” She drew her bottom lip between her teeth briefly in an anxious, self-conscious gesture.

Leon took a few steps farther into the room. “It isn’t silly. Why do you think I’ve come?”

A flash of grateful understanding flitted upon Gwen’s face. She walked to the round table in the centre of the room, trailing her fingertips on the wood. “Sometimes I come here to sit, to think of him, and it helps me to... When difficult problems arise, I try to think of what he would do.” She came around the outside of the table, touching her hand to Leon’s arm. “I’ll give you some time.”

As Gwen walked to the door, Leon stopped her, saying, “Guinevere... He would be proud of you.”

Gwen’s lips twitched upwards in the ghost of a smile. “I like to think that, too. Good night.”

When she had gone, Leon took a seat at the table. He closed his eyes and thought of them. It seemed he could hear them still, the sounds of their voices and their laughter. He remembered Arthur’s crooked smile and his bright, bright blue eyes, Gwaine tossing his hair out his face and the way he would throw a friendly arm around Leon’s shoulders, Elyan standing awkwardly with the long red cape clasped at his neck like it didn’t belong to him, until he could wear it as naturally as Arthur did.

Well, perhaps not quite. No one could pull off the sweeping fall of those capes like Arthur could.

Leon laughed to himself at the memory, but he felt choked, and maybe he wanted to sob but he wasn’t sure he remembered how.He put his head down until his cheek pressed to the cool wood and stayed there.

-

The following morning Leon awoke with a crick in his neck and a painful back. It was early still, the sun not yet fully risen, and Leon tried to recall if he had early morning training or not. Had he really had that much to drink last night? He was ashamed of himself. He could not shirk his duties and fall to pieces only because he missed his friends.

He refused to let them down like that.

Outside the throne room, Leon could hear the sound of people going to and fro, movement and bustle and energy. Leon’s eyes shifted to the window, where sunlight drifted in. It was a new day and Leon would face it as he faced all things, with his back straight and his head high.

**_End_ **


End file.
